The Vanishing Glass
by RavenWillow
Summary: What if you were given the chance to have the life you always dreamed of, to have the one thing you were always denied? Harry Potter is granted that chance one miserable summer, but at a terrible price...
1. Chapter One

Well, here it is. At long last it's begun! "The Vanishing Glass" – Part One. It has been delayed countless times due to exams, deaths, vacations, and, most recently, a vicious combination of laziness and writer's block. I'd like to thank my #1 greatest inspiration and pal, Fox Goddess, for getting me out of this rut!

Now, I do realize that this is very short. _It's only a prologue_! I have been avoiding writing chapter one because the plot is still developing. But it's coming along at an alarming rate. I just had the inspiration to write a prologue while talking to my aforementioned muse, and I figured, what the hell! Maybe people will become interested enough to wait for my story!

Anyways, when you read this short piece, don't assume you know who I'm writing about! I guarantee you that you will not know until the very end. Speculate all you want – I'm not giving anything away. Well, on with it!

*********

**The Vanishing Glass**

**Prologue**

A cold, damp room lay deep beneath the surface of a castle, invisible to Muggle eyes. A circular room, its walls a dull stone grey, lay empty – except for a mahogany writing desk, set in the centre. Standing behind the desk was a man with a commanding presence. He was by no means a tall, handsome, or impressive-looking man, but his appearance demanded a certain respect all the same. And he stared down at the piece of parchment lying on the mahogany desk, reading it with a troubled expression. Looking into the man's eyes would give no indication as to what he was thinking then, for he was a man who had learned to conceal his thoughts and emotions well over the long years he had lived. 

Presently, there was a knock on the tall wooden door. The man reluctantly lifted his eyes from the parchment and called in a strong voice, "Enter."

The door opened, and three young men in deep green robes entered the room. The first had his hood drawn back, but it fell over his tiny dark head as he bowed. The other two came shuffling in, carrying a short, wide paper package between them. It must have been incredibly heavy, for it tipped and threatened to drop with each step they took. The dark man bowed again and drew back his hood. "Sir," he muttered, "sir, it is here." His voice shook and he never allowed himself to make eye contact with the man behind the mahogany desk. The dark man stepped out of the way, and the two carrying the heavy package stood still, straining with the weight. The man behind the desk looked them over carefully. After a long while he spoke. 

"Place it here on the table, then." The two men with the package did so gratefully, and backed out of the room with a bow. The tiny dark man bowed, heading towards the door, but paused, watching the man behind the desk with curiosity as he read the parchment.

The man behind the desk barely looked up. "Is there something else?" The dark man trembled, speaking barely above a whisper. 

"Sir, I have…I have been hearing rumours lately. About….about the plan." The man lifted his eyes, a hint of curiosity playing on his features. 

"Go on." The dark man did continue, dropping his voice, as if fearing for eavesdroppers.

"Sir, they are saying…_they are saying that it has to do with The Boy Who Lived_!" The dark man finished with a dramatic flourish. The man behind the mahogany desk surveyed him carefully, but said nothing, so the dark man plunged on. "I was curious, sir. Does it, does it have to do with," he pointed to the heavy package on the desk, "with _that_?"

The man behind the desk lowered his eyes to the parchment again. 

"Take some advice, boy. Know that there are times in which it is best to ask questions, and times when it is best in which to keep one's mouth shut." 

"Of course, sir. I apologize, sir." And the dark man bowed himself out of the cold room.

The man behind the mahogany desk looked grimly at the parchment. Carefully, he lifted it off the desk and withdrew from beneath the folds of his dark robes a long wooden wand. He touched the wand lightly to the parchment, and it burst into flames. The man threw aside the burning paper and looked to the package on his desk. With another quick wave of his wand, the brown paper wrapping was severed and floated to the floor. The man's eyes twinkled, beholding the beauty and power at the package. Indeed, even one who did not realize it's full potential would have been impressed. It's intricate carvings, it's smooth, rippling surface, it's otherworldly glow – both a powerful and dangerous object. The man bent low over the surface and gazed into it. Indeed, there he was, just as the dark man had said – The Boy Who Lived. 

"This changes everything. With this I hold your fate, and the fate of all the world." He watched the figure in the glass for some time with a great deal of interest.

The man behind the mahogany desk smiled.

"Yes, boy…this changes everything."

*****

Like it? Hate it? Want more? Think you know who it is? Review!


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N:** It's _finally_ here! It took me eight months to write, but it's finally here! Wow, so we finally get into the meat of the story, so to speak. This chapter starts off pretty dark, taking place the summer after the 4th book, so it does contain spoilers. Harry is rather depressed after confronting Voldemort, and… well, I won't spoil anything, but Harry embarks on a pretty interesting journey at the end of the chapter. As always, enjoy, and review.

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Chapter One: Dreams, Scars, and Surprises 

  
It was one of those dull, grey mornings when all you want to do is stay in bed. The rain was beating against the windows of Number 4 Privet Drive in short, vicious bursts. The sun was nowhere to be seen; replaced, instead, with thick, iron-coloured clouds. Inside the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Harry Potter was watching his clock slowly tick the seconds away, waiting for his aunt and uncle to stir. Soon he would be making them and his cousin Dudley breakfast. He would be given a little toast and bacon, and then he would be sent outside to cut the grass. Today was Wednesday. And Harry always cut the grass on Wednesday, rain or no.

This was one of many reasons why Harry hated living with the Dursleys so much. Perhaps if they were still pretending like he didn't exist, as they used to, Harry wouldn't mind so much.  But ever since he had been enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Dursleys had made it their personal mission to make sure Harry and his "abnormality" knew they weren't welcome at Number 4 Privet Drive, and each successive summer they treated him worse and worse.

There had always been plenty for Dudley to tease Harry about. He had always been rather lanky (no doubt due to the miniscule meals he had received his whole life), his mop of black hair was always untidy no matter what he tried, he had no real family to speak of, and he had a curiously-shaped scar on his forehead that resembled a bolt of lightning. This scar was Dudley's (and Uncle Vernon's) favourite thing to tease Harry about. And to their surprise, Harry had arrived back at the Dursleys' this summer with a brand-new scar on his right forearm, a souvenir of his latest encounter with the most feared wizard in England, nay, the world – Lord Voldemort. Dudley had spent the past week wearing himself out day after day thinking up amusing names to call Harry, and then laughing so long and hard he would forget all about whatever television programme or computer game he has been entertaining himself with. 

Normally, Harry could learn to ignore Dudley's taunting, but all the remarks about his new scar had kept his mind on the night his parent's betrayer and Voldemort's servant, Wormtail, had made the deep gash in his arm. It was the night of the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament. It was also the night he had led Cedric Diggory to his death. Harry turned his eyes away from the clock and delicately touched the scar on his arm, as if it burned to the touch. The truth was the scar had healed wonderfully and remarkably fast, but each time Harry looked at it or touched it, the memory of the searing pain flooded back to him in an instant. 

Harry shook his head violently, as if doing so would make the memories go away. Tired of sitting and waiting, he pulled on an over-sized sweatshirt and crept downstairs to prepare breakfast.

***__

It was the same dream. It was always the same dream. Complete, total darkness. Total nothingness swallowing his entire body, clinging to him like a second skin, as if it wanted to suck his soul away. 

_"Harry…" It was coming from behind him. He stopped, suddenly, and turned. He squinted into the darkness, although he knew it was no use. "Harry," The voice was on his left now. "Harry." No, his right. "Harry! Harry, Harry, Harry…" It was coming from all around him. Up, down, left, right, behind – "HARRY!" – right in front of him. He was sure of it now. And then he was running faster, faster…And the darkness continued to engulf him with each desperate step. The voice was so pleading, so far away. He couldn't tell if it was male or female. Regardless, he just knew he had to get to it before…well, he wasn't sure. Before something terrible happened. _

_He finally collapsed on his hands and knees, taking deep gulps of air, clutching a stitch in his side. He wasn't sure how long he had been running; the voice, his only guide, had long since faded until he couldn't hear a sound except the beating of his own heart. _

***

The clock had stopped ticking the night Harry awoke, arms flailing, and knocked it off the bedside table. Time did not matter anyway. Harry knew what time it was: too late to go back to sleep, too early to get out of bed. That same dream had been haunting him for a week now, and he was sick of it. The lack of sleep was finally beginning to take its toll, physically evident by the dark half moons underneath his eyes and his sluggish movements, and emotionally evident by the depression that plagued him these days – though Harry couldn't tell if it was fatigue or mourning and guilt that was disturbing him so.

For more mornings than he cared to count Harry had awakened in the early hours because of this dream, and he had had enough._ I'm writing to Sirius_, he thought. Harry dashed for his quill and parchment, sat down to address the letter, and hesitated. Was this something he could write to Sirius about? Something inside Harry was pulling him, giving him the feeling of a resounding _no_. But then… who?Ron?_ No…this really isn't something Ron could understand, let alone help with._ Hermione… Though she was still bound to be overly concerned, she had a woman's perspective, and always tended to be less judgemental. Plus, she was much more intelligent. She could interpret this dream for Harry.

Harry filled nearly three feet of parchment with messy, tiredly scribbled lines of almost nonsensical ramblings, trying almost too hard to fit in every detail of his dreams, his feelings – even his emotional state – and when Hedwig returned at dawn, Harry tied the letter to her leg and sent her off.

***

Hedwig was perched on the windowsill early the next morning, a letter tied to her leg. She waited patiently while Harry freed the letter, and flew into her cage with a soft hoot. As tired as Harry was, the contents of the letter woke him up immediately, and would keep him up many a night to follow. It was Hermione's response. 

_Harry,  
 Have you thought that perhaps it's not Cedric's death that's bothering you, but seeing your parents?_

***

"Harry…_Harry!_" There was an urgent whisper and a pair of rough hands shaking Harry's shoulder. He groaned and rolled over, cracking his eyelids ever so slightly. A pale light flooded over him from the open window, but it wasn't the light of dawn that he had been expecting. A brilliant half moon shone in his eyes, and he could just barely make out a thin, hunched figure pacing in front of his bureau. Harry groped for his glasses, and the blurry figure became clear. Harry blinked. "_Sirius_?!"  
"Shh!"  
"What're you _doing_ here?" Sirius knelt at Harry's bedside and showed him a long, thick roll of parchment.  
"Hermione sent me your letter."  
"_What_?" Harry struggled not to scream and wake the Dursleys.  
"Shh! She's concerned about you, and after reading this, so am I, and –"  
"I don't want to talk about it. Not with you." Sirius looked stung. Harry had spoken the truth, but he hadn't intended to sound so harsh. "Well, what I mean is…"  
"It's alright Harry, really. Listen, I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think I know something that might help. Get dressed, quickly." He turned around while Harry fumbled into jeans and a heavy jumper. "Come on." He tossed Harry his broomstick and wand, mounted his own broom, and fell silently out Harry's bedroom window. Harry, groggy and confused, could only follow.

***

They flew at an incredible speed for what felt to Harry like hours. He focused on following Sirius' broom only, not bothering to take note of where they were. Finally, as the first lights of dawn were creeping into the world, they landed in a desolate field, long overgrown with weeds and brambles.

Sirius dismounted and walked towards the field's only inhabitants: the stone ruins of a building and a large oak tree. The sharp morning air filled Harry's lungs and he became more alert as he followed Sirius to the ruins.

Though Sirius had gained an uncanny ability to conceal his emotions during his stay in Azkaban, he couldn't seem to hide the sadness and sense of bittersweet nostalgia this place brought out of him. Harry noticed, and realization dawned on him.

"Sirius… this was my parents' house, wasn't it?"  
"It was _your_ house too, Harry. Until… well, I didn't bring you here to show you the life you were ripped from. Look under that tree, Harry."

Harry's legs had turned to rubber once he realized where Sirius had brought him, but he forced himself to stumble to the tree. Sirius followed, stepped in front of Harry, and kneeling, cleared away the weeds from two stone tablets. Harry read the stones, and fell to his knees.

_James Potter_. _Lily Potter_. He was standing at his parents' graves.

***

Dusk was falling when Harry and Sirius left Godric's Hollow, and it was well into the night when Harry was finally returned to Privet Drive. Sirius found no words to say to his godson, so he simply gave a sympathetic, encouraging smile and took off. Harry walked in the front door and past the Dursleys, who were sitting in the kitchen, looking dumbfounded. Uncle Vernon raced out of the kitchen as Harry was climbing the stairs, Petunia and Dudley in tow.

"Are you crazy, boy? Flying that thing in full view of the neighbours? Leaving this house in the middle of the night? You give me that broom – it's fire kindling now!" Harry's face was burning. He turned on his heels, eyes flashing, and pointed his wand at Uncle Vernon.  
"I don't care about any of you, or your rules! I could kill you with a word, Uncle, so I would be _very_ careful what you said to me right now."  
Uncle Vernon was becoming pink in the face, a vein bulging from his fat forehead. "I know as well as you do, boy, that you can't do any magic outside of your _precious_ school." He taunted Harry with his sarcastic description of Hogwarts. But Harry was unfazed. He kept his wand steady.  
"You watch what you say…" As if on cue, his wand sputtered a few red sparks perniciously. Uncle Vernon said nothing more, but glared at Harry as he turned on his heels and went to his room, broomstick in tow.

***

Harry couldn't sleep, but now he had something different to think about. After Hermione's letter, and now Sirius' visit, Harry had been thinking of nothing but his parents. Oh, how he missed them… He touched the scar on his forearm, thinking about the night they had appeared in the cemetery. Before, he had only seen them in the photos Hagrid had given to him. Harry thought, if he tried really hard, he could remember his mother's voice singing to him as a child, but he could never tell if it was his own wishful thinking, or a long-forgotten memory. But that night in the cemetery… how real they had seemed! His mother, so graceful and kind. His father, so gentle and noble. Even in the memory of their appearance he remembered that surge of love he had felt for the parents he never knew. "All I ever wanted was a real family…" he muttered to the empty darkness of his room. 

Those words alone seemed to create a well of emotions that were on the brink of escaping. They expressed every fear, anxiety, sadness, anger, hate and desire inside of him that he had ever felt. The Mirror of Erised had seen it in him, as well. Harry's only wish, the one thing that could make him truly happy and complete, was a family. _This is no place for me,_ Harry thought, _The Dursleys aren't a family. They're keeping me a prisoner. I could have been so happy if I never came to live here… if I still had my parents…_ Harry was sure Sirius hadn't meant to say it, but he had been right when he told Harry that he would have been happy living with his parents. His life would have been perfect. _There's nothing for me in this world. My family is gone, my happiness is gone._ There. Harry had suddenly realised what had been depressing him so much since that night. It was not the guilt of having led Cedric to an early death, nor was it the fear that Voldemort had now come back. None of those things even mattered, he realised. He had been deprived of a happy family, and now he wanted it back more than anything.

_***_

It was that damned dream again. Nothing but blackness, and the voice calling his name over and over. But it was so much clearer tonight! Harry could tell it was directly in front of him, so he ran and ran, until his legs were sore and his feet calloused and bloody. A faint light began to grow larger in the distance, and he kept running until he was suddenly standing in front of a tall, magnificent mirror. Harry thought at first that it was the Mirror of Erised, but no. This mirror gave off a dark, uneasy feeling, though it was very grand. It was much taller than Harry; with a gilded frame so intricate and detailed it looked like it had taken a millennia to craft. Its surface was black and molten, moving and rippling like liquid mercury. Its almost poetic movement transfixed Harry. The voice calling his name seemed to come from deep within the mirror. "Harry!" This time, it was distinctly feminine, and very familiar, though Harry could not place it for the life of him. Then, from deep within the liquid of the mirror, an image began to form. A woman. "Mom!" And a man. "Dad!" They smiled eagerly and waved at Harry. Harry felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks. "Mom! Dad! Wait!" And the last thing Harry could comprehend was a blissful feeling of weightlessness as he was falling…

_***_

"HARRY POTTER!"

THUMP.

Harry picked himself up off the floor gingerly. He had fallen out of bed. Grumbling, he groped for his glasses on the bedside table… except there was no bedside table.

"_Harry Potter, get down here for breakfast!_"  
"Coming Aunt Petunia," Harry called in response as he stumbled around for his glasses.  
"Aunt Petunia?" came a befuddled voice from downstairs. A male voice Harry didn't recognize responded.  
"He must've fallen out of bed again, dear."

Harry was confused. _The Dursleys must have company_, he thought to himself. Harry finally found his glasses, placed high on a bureau at the other end of the room. _Odd,_ he thought. _That wasn't there before –_ he stopped himself short, as he looked around the room. This _wasn't_ his room. Everything was completely different. The floors, the furniture, everything. There was even a large, expensive-looking perch by the window where a brown owl was sleeping. "Wow, I must have hit my head harder than I thought…"

Harry stumbled down a wide wooden staircase, rubbing his eyes, and stopped short when he reached the bottom. He was in a large, sunny kitchen, and sitting at the wooden table, staring right back at him, were Harry's parents.

***

**A/N: **Woooh! Major cliffhanger! Well, next chapter, things get _a lot_ more interesting! Review, and stay tuned!


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